


Legend of the FiddleSpirit

by detectivejigsaw



Series: Flipside AU [18]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Gen, Humor, Kind of Fidds-Centric, More summer adventures, Pines family being a walking danger magnet, Portal-Potties, Situation normal, flipside AU, he doesn't get enough love, heat exhaustion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29985576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw
Summary: A scientist, a tour guide, an inventor and a lumberjack walk into a portal potty.What could possibly go wrong?The latest installment of the Flipside AU.
Relationships: "Manly" Dan Corduroy & Fiddleford H. McGucket, "Manly" Dan Corduroy & Ford Pines, "Manly" Dan Corduroy & Stan Pines, "Manly" Dan Corduroy/Matilda Blerble (OC), Emma-May Dixon/Fiddleford H. McGucket, Fiddleford H. McGucket & Ford Pines, Fiddleford H. McGucket & Stan Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Series: Flipside AU [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587223
Comments: 56
Kudos: 37





	1. Fiddleford predicts the future

Another day, another adventure.

At least so far this one had been less life-threatening or heart attack-inducing than usual, Fiddleford thought as he watched Stan and Ford returning to the dock: they’d just been giving their boat its first real test on the water, while he and Dan and Matilda and Emma-May (it seemed safest to have as many people as possible on hand) kept watch on them to make sure they didn’t crash or drown or anything.

And somehow, despite the fact that it was the Pines twins, during their little expedition they had avoided angering any eldritch lake gods, or being struck by lightning, or getting sucked away into a haunted whirlpool. It was practically a miracle.

All the same, Fiddleford was reasonably sure that his friends were going to wind up getting into some kind of trouble today, considering it had been a couple of weeks since the dog sled race incident, and that was usually the longest they could last without finding trouble.

...Or trouble finding them; he still wasn’t sure which it was. It was kind of a “chicken-or-egg” situation when it came right down to it.

* * *

Despite his suspicions, he was enjoying the nice summer afternoon. Rebecca had offered to watch Tate for him and Emma-May, so they’d made the trip to the lake into a kind of date: getting ice cream from one of the shops downtown, walking barefoot on the sand right next to the water while holding hands, and enjoying each other’s company in a way they hadn’t been able to since before Tate was born.

...Don’t misunderstand him; Fiddleford loved his boy. But it was nice to have some time with just his wife, and not have to worry that Tate was about to start crying and they’d have to drop everything and go take care of him.

As the Pineses paddled back to shore, using the oars that Stan may or may not have stolen from the rental spot because there was very minimal wind today, the group of watchers clapped and cheered the grand voyage’s triumphant conclusion. A few nearby townsfolk who didn’t seem to understand what was going on joined in the applause.

Dan gave Stan and Ford a hand up out of the boat once it was close enough, and then hopped into the water to help lift it back onto the dock.

“Ugh! You guys better bring a bucket next time so you can bail this thing out,” he scolded, seeing how flooded the inside of it was, and how wet their shoes were.

“Yes…” Ford pulled his journal out of his vest pocket, and a pen out of his hair. “We definitely need to make the bottom more water-tight. And we should check to make sure the tiller is aligned properly; I feel like it doesn’t go all the way to the left.”

“And add some oar locks,” Stan added, flexing his hands; the palms were already red and blistered from rowing. “Ow.”

“Or ya could just put in a motor,” Fiddleford offered.

They could not have looked more appalled if he had suggested setting the boat on fire.

Fiddleford shrank back, holding up his hands in surrender. “Jes’ a suggestion, forget I said anything.”

“So, when do we get a turn on this baby?” Matilda asked, patting the prow.

“After we’ve finished it.” Stan shooed her away.

Matilda sighed dramatically. “I didn’t know fixing up a boat was gonna take so  _ long _ .”

He snorted. “You think this is long? It took us most of our childhood ta make the first one anywhere  _ near  _ seaworthy, and that’s when we had no idea what we were doin’.”

“Not completely true. We read plenty of books on boat building.” Ford finished scribbling down notes in his journal, and closed it with a snap. “We just weren’t very skilled at it back then.”

“Potato, potahdo.”

Ford tucked the journal back into his vest, and then scooted past everyone else. “I’ll be right back, I need to...go take care of something.”

And he headed for a porta-potty set up next to the canoe rental, and slipped through the door.

While they waited for him to return, the others sat down in a row on the dock, letting their legs dangle over the water and watching the fish that were swimming around just under the surface.

Despite the way he kept wincing and flexing his sore hands, Fiddleford could see that Stan looked the epitome of content as he leaned his shoulder against the boat. He wasn’t surprised; Ford had mentioned how much the possibility of sailing around in their own boat had meant to them when they were kids, so they were both living the dream right now. It suited them.

After about five minutes, Dan glanced at the porta-potty with a concerned frown.

“Ford’s sure taking his time.”

“Maybe it’s cuz of how unsanitary those things are,” Emma-May suggested.

“I’ll go check on him. Maybe he found some kinda magic spider in there or somethin’.”

Stan got up and wandered over to the porta-potty, and knocked on the door. It was too far away for Fiddleford to hear, but it looked like he said something, probably along the lines of “Hey nerd, you almost done in there?”

Evidently he got no reply, because he knocked again, more insistently, before grabbing the handle and-it wasn’t even locked?-pulled it open.

And immediately disappeared inside, looking like he’d been pulled through the door.

Dan was the first one to leap to his feet, rushing towards the porta-potty; the others came right on his heels, and stared at the blue-green plastic box in apprehensive suspicion.

Dan slowly pulled his axe off his shoulder, and turned it so he was able to hook the door handle with the back end of the bladed part. He glanced at Matilda, who nodded and hefted the oar she’d grabbed, counted to three quietly...and then pulled the door open.

There was no sign of Stan or Ford.

There wasn’t even a porta-potty.

Instead there was a wide, swirling, golden vortex that looked like something out of  _ Star Trek _ .

After a minute of staring at it in disbelief, Fiddleford let out a sigh.

“...We’re gonna have ta go in after them, aren’t we?”

Dan sighed in equal volume, and hefted his axe.

“Yup.”


	2. Things get worse

“Okay...best two out of three?” Matilda asked, raising her fist above her other palm.

Fiddleford nodded, and braced himself.

They each pounded their fist three times, and then Fiddleford spread his hand out flat in the symbol for paper.

“Wait, you don’t do ‘rock, paper, scissors, shoot’?”

He hesitated. “...Is that a thing?”

Matilda sighed. “Let’s start over. And this time you pound three times, and then do scissors or whatever.”

“Shouldn’t we be more concerned about the two people trapped on the other side of this portal thing than about how to play the game properly?” Emma-May asked from behind them. In her arms was a coil of rope (hopefully the canoe rental wouldn’t notice that their supplies kept disappearing).

The younger woman flushed. “...Right, right, sorry. I just kind of take it for granted that whatever trouble they get into, it’s probably not gonna be enough to  _ kill _ them before we can get to them.”

“That seems like kind of a risky assumption to make every time.”

“Yeah, but it’s worked so far-” Fiddleford tapped Matilda’s arm. “Sorry, focusing. Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

Fiddleford went with paper again, and beat Matilda’s rock. He felt a small twinge of nervousness in his gut.

Dan looked up from sharpening his axe. “Loser has to tell Shermie that his brothers have been sucked into some kinda portal thing.”

“What?! That wasn’t in the rules!” Fiddleford objected.

“It is now,” Dan retorted.

Now Fiddleford wasn’t sure if he wanted to win or lose this thing. But, with a nervous swallow, he held out his fist again.

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

This round was a tie, because they both went with rock.

Fiddleford swallowed nervously, and prepared to go a third time.

Rock, paper, scissors-

“Shoot!”

Matilda sighed in disappointment when Fiddleford’s scissors beat her paper, and then went rushing off in the direction of the Pines cabin.

* * *

“You sure you can’t just make another probe and throw that in instead?” Emma-May asked as she helped tie the rope around Fiddleford’s waist, in a knot that wouldn’t slip loose easily; Dan held the other end, wrapping it tightly around his knuckles and staring warily at what they’d unanimously christened the “portal potty.”

“They take me a couple hours at least,” Fiddleford admitted. “Anything coulda happened ta those two by that point. Otherwise trust me, I woulda gotten started on one in a heartbeat.”

All the same, a little part of him wished they could afford to go with that option. Call him crazy, but some kind of instinct was making him  _ very  _ uncomfortable with the idea of being sent through a portal, even if a) it was just to see if he could pull the other two back through, and b) he’d have a rope attached to him with someone holding the other end.

Emma-May sighed, and wrapped her hand around his. “Just...come back in one piece, okay? I’m not ready to be a single mom.”

Fiddleford nodded, squeezing her hand and hoping his wasn’t as clammy as it felt. Then he finally let go, and turned to look at Dan.

“Ready?” asked the lumberjack.

He nodded reluctantly, and went towards the door of the portal potty. After another nervous swallow, he grabbed the handle, and pulled it open.

The vortex was still there, and it immediately began tugging at him as he got closer.

_ Really _ hoping that it wasn’t going to deposit him in some kind of giant sewer dimension or anything, Fiddleford took a deep breath, and then allowed himself to get sucked inside.

Thankfully, there was not a giant sewer dimension when he opened his eyes again.

Instead, there was a cactus.

In fact, there were a lot of cactuses (cacti? How important was the difference?), and short scrubbly bushes, and red-brown dirt, and a few admittedly beautiful mountains off in the distance. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw the other end of the rope hanging in midair, partially disappearing into a green, swirling light. The manifestation made him relax a tiny bit.

_...Okay. So I’m in a desert. That ain’t so bad. Now I just gotta see if the others are here too. _

“Stanford!” Fiddleford cupped his hands around his mouth and called out. “Stanley! Can ya hear me?”

_ Please let them be here too let them be here too _

“Stanford!”

He barely registered that the rope was starting to feel a little tight around his waist, when he heard a rustling from behind a small hill a few feet away, and Stan’s head and shoulders appeared as he climbed into view.

Stan grinned in delight and relief, and came bounding down to him.

“Hey Fidds! How’s it hangin’?”

Fiddleford’s shoulders relaxed some of their tension. “Where’s Ford?”

“Lookin’ for a road outta here. I decided ta stick around here in case you guys got that thing open again.”

The rope jerked a little, and Fiddleford squirmed, wondering what was going on back there.

“You sure we’re even still on earth?”

Stan held up a broken Pitt cola bottle, with clumps of sand and dirt sticking to the glass. “Yeah, pretty sure.”

“Then how do we know it’s not an alternate dimension or somethin’, like the one FP came from? You oughta go grab Stanford and get him back here so we can leave-augh!”

Fiddleford let out a strangled yell as he was jerked off his feet by the rope suddenly  _ yanking _ him back, pulling the breath from his lungs. He landed hard on his back, and skidded helplessly for a moment with the wind knocked out of him, before he felt two strong hands grab his ankles and tug him the other way.

“What’s goin’ on?!” Stan demanded, switching the grip to Fiddleford’s arms, and then to the rope that was holding him.

“Dan’s-holdin’ the other end-makin’ sure I don’t get stuck here afore we can-!”

The rope jerked again, and this time Fiddleford saw, briefly, an enormous hand and arm briefly get pulled through the vortex before they jerked back. He also registered that the portal was making an angry, churning noise, and the small burst of color was starting to swirl faster.

Stan let out an impressive Spanish curse, and glanced over his shoulder. “FORD! STANFORD, C’MON, WE GOTTA-!”

A hoarse, angry roar interrupted him, as the portal let out a horrific, almost human-sounding screech, and Dan burst through it, boots skidding and digging rivets in the ground.

Both Stan and Fiddleford barely moved in time to avoid being squashed by him, and he landed face-first in the dirt.

A second later, the vortex of light made a gooey, sucking noise, and then vanished.

Dan slowly sat up, wearing a hollow, traumatized expression that Fiddleford had never expected to see on the lumberjack’s face before.

“...The portal...was stronger than me.”

* * *

Ford appeared at the top of the hill, and waved to them happily.

“Oh, hey! Did you decide to join us? I think we’ve discovered a new kind of natural teleporter! Or possibly it was somehow invented by the KillBillies, I think I heard bluegrass music playing as I arrived! It’s incredible!”

The smile faded into slight confusion as he reached them. “...What’s the matter?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Dan were less traumatized, Stan would probably have had to act quickly to keep him from wrapping his fingers around Ford's trachea.


	3. Decisions are made-for better or for worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saint Patrick's Day.

“...So let me get this straight,” Shermie said finally. “Both my brothers, Mr. Corduroy, and Mr. McGucket all got sucked through a ‘portal potty’ into parts unknown, and then it  _ imploded _ ?”

Matilda and Emma-May both nodded, looking equally freaked out and distressed by this situation. They were all gathered in the living room, which was the  _ de facto _ war room.

The eldest Pines sighed, rubbed his forehead, and then turned to his wife. “Bex, would you-”

Rebecca wordlessly handed him the bottle of extra-strength ibuprofen she’d picked up at the drugstore.

“Thanks.” Shermie opened it, shook out two pills into his hand, and dry-swallowed them. Then he massaged his temples with his fingers.

“Okay, I’m open to any suggestions any of you might have for how to find them.”

“We could try looking through Ford’s old notes,” Emma-May suggested. “Maybe he’s got a location spell or something?”

Shermie snapped his fingers. “I like the way you think. Let’s do that. Hopefully they won’t be too far away, so we can get them back without too much effort.”

“Hopefully they’re still in this dimension,” Matilda muttered.

* * *

Out in the desert, a flock of crows took flight when they were startled by a hysterical, panicked scream that rang through the air, until it was abruptly cut off with a strangled squeak.

Stan clamped his hand a little more firmly over Fiddleford’s mouth. “Okay, let’s try this again. Deep, non-freaking-out breath in through your nose. Ya think you can do that?”

After a moment, Fiddleford nodded, and inhaled through his nose.

“Good. Hold it, hooold it-and now let it out again.”

This happened a few more times before Stan felt comfortable letting him go; when he did, Fiddleford was still obviously freaked out, but at least instead of screaming more he just started pacing in a circle around a cactus and tugging at his hair, so that was progress.

Stan looked over at Ford. “Whadda we do, Sixer?”

The seriousness of the situation had finally sunk in for Ford, but he was still relatively calm, and examining the spot where the portal had once been with a hand to his chin.

“For now, we should probably just wait here, in case there’s a chance the others are able to open the portal again from the other side.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Dan muttered. He still looked shell-shocked, but he had recovered enough to sit up and dust himself off, and was now sitting moodily against a rock. “That thing was makin’ pretty funky noises when it pulled me through. I think we messed it up or somethin’.”

“...Oh dear. That does complicate matters.”

“Oh, that  _ complicates matters _ ?!” Fiddleford came to a halt and let out a shrill, cracking laugh. “That’s all you got ta say about this?! We have no idea where we are! We might not even be in our own  _ DIMENSION  _ anymore, but noooo, that ain’t somethin’ ta get too upset about, the fact that we might  _ never _ get home is just somethin’ that-”

“Fidds! Go back ta pacing! NOW!” Stan barked.

Fiddleford let out a small, anguished whine, and then resumed pacing.

“...Let’s just wait for a little bit, see if the portal opens up again,” Ford suggested, giving his friend a concerned stare.

“Good idea.” Stan sat down on the rock Dan was leaning against, and pulled out a deck of cards that he began absentmindedly shuffling and doing sleight-of-hand with.

For about half an hour they waited, while the sun beat down on their heads and the air felt thicker and heavier around them.

Nobody talked much. Dan kept staring down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them and flexing his arms gloomily. Ford found a nearby rock to sit on, and wrote in his journal. Stan practiced making cards appear and disappear up his sleeve. Fiddleford wore a small path into the dirt around the cactus.

Fortunately Stan and Ford had a water bottle each, having learned the hard way the importance of staying hydrated while working on the boat, so everyone was able to have a little drink, but they tried not to have too much. There was an increasingly strong possibility that they would need to make it last.

The inventory of their supplies also included the rope, Dan’s axe and compass, Stan’s cards and various other items that he kept on his person at all times (mostly a worrying amount of weapons), Ford’s journal and writing supplies, and Fiddleford’s watch.

Stuff that was at least practical, but not very good for telling where they were, or how to get out of here. No, the compass did not count, since knowing where north is is no help if you don’t know where a town or road is in relation to north.

Gradually, Fiddleford’s frantic energy wore off, and his pacing slowed to a halt. He glanced yearningly at the spot where the portal had been, in the futile hope that it might be about to open, and sighed.

“How ya doin’, Fidds?” Stan asked, looking up from his cards.

Fiddleford exhaled, and felt shame curdling in his stomach. “Sorry...kinda lost control there.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Stan offered his water. “Need a little more?”

“No, I-I’m fine.” Fiddleford managed a smile.

“Well, let me know if ya get thirsty.” Stan put the bottle away, and then looked at Ford. “Ya think if we leave, they’re immediately gonna figure out how to open the portal again, so in a cruelly ironic twist of fate we’ll just miss each other?”

Ford smiled dryly. “It’s always a possibility...but a chance that we might have to take. It’s not safe for us to be out in the sun like this.”

“Yeah, you don’t gotta tell  _ me _ that.” Stan looked down at one of his arms, and grimaced when he saw it was already starting to sunburn. “Maybe we oughta head for the mountains. They could give us some shade, and if we get up high enough maybe we can spot a road or something.”

Ford considered the idea with a frown. “I’m not sure how far away those mountains are, so it might be a little risky...but they do seem like the best shelter available right now.”

Dan got up, and slung the now-coiled rope over his shoulder, before lifting his axe and twirling it in his hand. “Great, let’s go.”

The Pines twins both stood up, and together the four men began trekking between and around the cactuses towards the distant mountains.

* * *

The portal did  _ not _ open as soon as they left the area.

However, a pair of hungry green eyes did watch them leave. And a soft growl rumbled from a particularly big cactus patch, along with a clicking noise, like a bunch of needles were rubbing themselves together.


	4. If you can't take the heat...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains symptoms of heat exhaustion.

The mountains turned out to be farther away than any of them had expected. All the same, there was nowhere else to go, so the little group continued their steady trek in that direction, weaving their way between cactuses and up and down rocky hills, and once across an old, dried-up creek bed with the obligatory cow skull resting on one bank. They only took occasional breaks so each of them could take small sips from their steadily-dwindling water supply.

Part of Fiddleford wondered, as he plodded through the heat and tried to keep up with Dan and the others, if the mountains would turn out to be some kind of very elaborate mirage; it was unlikely, but not altogether impossible, considering what adventures with the Pines family were usually like.

_ Is it their whole  _ family  _ that’s cursed, or just the two o’ them? And does it rebound on the rest of us like some kinda twisted version o’ Murphy’s Law cuz we’re in close proximity to ‘em, or is it cuz we’ve been in Gravity Falls long enough that now we’re all trapped in the weirdness curse too? _

_ Need more data...needa get outta the sun, this is worse ‘n summer in Tennessee...how can they stand havin’ the air this  _ dry _?! _

_ Oh, quit bein’ a big baby-if you can spend an afternoon in July wrestling hogs back into their pen, you can handle walking across a desert for an hour or two. _

_ I just hope that’s all it’s gonna be... _

Fiddleford wiped almost a bucket of sweat off his forehead and stopped to clean his glasses on his shirttail; there were some funny dark smudges showing up on the lenses. Then he realized that no, it wasn’t the glasses-he was starting to see colored spots in front of his eyes.

He blinked a few times, trying to will them away; they showed no interest in leaving, however, and in fact seemed to only increase in size.

_ What the hey…? Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is- _

Then Fiddleford realized that everyone else had gotten ahead of him. Hurriedly he put his glasses back on, and stumbled to catch up.

“I think we’re getting close,” Ford said aloud. “We just need to keep going for about another hour, and maybe there’ll be a cave or something where we can get out of the sun.”

_ That’s good, _ Fiddleford thought dazedly.  _ Just go a little farther, then maybe I can lie down...that sounds awful good right about now. _

“Yeah, and hopefully there won’t be a cougar or scorpions already inside it,” Stan muttered.

“Way to be optimistic, Stanley.”

Fiddleford could barely hear the familiar banter over the way his ears had started ringing, in accompaniment with the increasing amount of dark spots flickering in front of his eyes, threatening to obscure his vision altogether. He could also feel his legs swaying like a newborn calf’s, and a dull throbbing had started up in his temples.

Fiddleford wondered if he should say something, or if he could wait until they got to the mountains…

Oh joy, another small hill that they needed to climb up. As Fiddleford staggered towards it, he looked off to his right, to see if maybe he could just walk  _ around _ the hill-and stumbled to a halt. Maybe it was a sign of how overheated his brain was, but it almost looked like he’d seen one o’ them cactuses  _ moving _ .

Not a lot, but one of the arms-branches-whatever you called that thing was twitching-what the-

“Fidds? Hey, are you okay?”

Fiddleford slowly turned his head forward again; he could make out a form standing in front of him, but couldn’t even tell which of his friends it was anymore; everything was all...hazy.

He opened his mouth, trying to remember how to form words properly, and suddenly felt his legs fold under him, as the blackness finished consuming his vision.

* * *

When Fiddleford opened his eyes again, he was lying on his back on a hard, rocky surface, but with something softer bunched up under his head, and what felt like a rock resting under his legs, and another something soft (and damp) on his forehead. He lifted a hand, and pulled it enough into view for him to see that it was his own necktie, and that it appeared to have been soaked in something-hopefully just water.

He also realized that while he still felt like a puddle of donkey spittle, at least his vision and hearing were back to normal, and some of the dizziness and nausea he’d been feeling had abated.

_ Ugh...what happened? _

A hand closed around his wrist, pulling it away from the tie. Fiddleford yelped, and tried to jerk away-until he saw that it was just Stan, sunburned and sweaty-looking, kneeling next to him with a very grim expression.

Stan checked him over for a second, and then held up his water bottle.

“Do ya know what this is, Fiddlesticks?”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes; if he had a dime for every time someone called him that he’d be rich enough to get his personal computers business off the ground. “It’s a water bottle, Stanley,” he rasped.

Stan shook it, causing the water inside to slosh about. “Can ya tell that there’s still water left inside?”

“...Yeah.” He was starting to see where this conversation was going.

“And do you remember how ta ask for water if ya get thirsty,  _ before _ you end up fainting from heat exhaustion and scaring everyone else ta death?”

Yup, there it was.

Fiddleford groaned, and tried to sit up, but Stan shoved him down again with embarrassingly minimal effort. “Yes, I know how ta do that. I’m not Ford.”

“Hey!”

Both of them ignored the indignant interjection from nearby.

“I just figured we oughta save it, since we don’t have a lot.”

Stan twisted the cap off the water bottle, and lifted Fiddleford’s head and shoulders up before pushing it into his hand. “We don’t have a lotta  _ you  _ either, and I’d rather bring you home ta your family than a bunch of extra water. You’re lucky you didn’t get heat stroke, knucklehead. Now drink.”

Fiddleford took the hint, and had a small sip of water-which turned into a slightly bigger sip at the stern glare that Stan gave him.

It was pretty lukewarm, but it was the best drink he’d ever had; Fiddleford took a moment to savor it before swallowing. Then he handed the bottle back to Stan, and looked around. They were surrounded by rocks set in a strange arching pattern, with only a few spots in between them where he could make out pieces of blue sky. Were they in some kind of weirdly-formed cave?

“Where are we? Did we make it ta the mountains?”

Ford half-crawled into his line of vision; he looked as disheveled and sunburned as Stan was.

“No, Dan moved some boulders to create a makeshift shelter so we could take care of you.” He gestured over at Dan, who was sitting by the entrance; he waved when he saw Fiddleford looking at him. He had stripped down to his undershirt, and after glancing down Fiddleford realized that Dan had donated his shirt as a makeshift pillow for him.

His stomach clenched.

“...Sorry, fellers. I didn’t mean ta cause you all this trouble.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Stan patted his shoulder and gently pushed him into lying down again. “We decided we’re gonna wait in here till the sun’s gone down a little so it’s not so hot.”

“Yeah,” Ford agreed, “Just relax for a bit.”

Stan pulled out his cards again, shuffling them between his hands.

“...Anyone up for some poker? Looks like we’re gonna be here awhile.”

“I don’t have any cash,” Dan rumbled. “And I’m pretty sure that’s your marked set.”

Stan looked away guiltily. “...You can’t prove anything.”

“How about we go with something a little less high stakes?” Ford asked. He picked up a handful of pebbles. “I could teach you how to play knucklebones; it’s a game that’s been around since ancient Greek times, and requires speed and dexterity of the hands.”

Stan groaned, and sulkily put the cards away. “Fine, whatever.”

“You might like it, Stanley. Just give it a chance.”

* * *

Fiddleford fell back asleep to the sound of their good-natured bickering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever end up having heat exhaustion, please get out of the heat as soon as possible. And let someone know that you need help. I cannot emphasize this enough; I've had head exhaustion before multiple times, and it is not fun. Especially when it also results in vomiting, instead of just passing out.


End file.
